by SE Jakes
But it wasn’t, and he and Gypsy had both lost a hell of a lot over the years. Sweet’d been hoping that Linc was for real as badly as his friend, but Sweet was far more cynical and had the weight of the club on his back. And Sweet had been pissed at Gypsy for not seeing Linc for who he was—an unrepentant thief, first and foremost. Linc was an easygoing guy for sure, but he’d done major damage and Havoc had allowed it. Because he’d been former Army, because he’d been friends with Rush, who was with Havoc’s XO and therefore a Havoc member . . . and because he’d been sleeping with Gypsy. One of us, some of the Havoc men thought.
Gypsy’d thought that too, until Linc skipped and Sweet discovered the shit with the credit cards immediately after. He hadn’t told many of his Havoc brothers about the fraud since they all knew that Linc skipped on Gypsy—bail aside—and they were all pissed. No need to release the hounds for Linc, because that wasn’t how you caught a thief.
Sweet needed bait. Something to hold over Linc’s head. And currently that person was one floor above and probably far from an innocent bystander. “I won’t let anything—or anyone—fuck with Havoc, Gypsy.”
Gypsy looked him in the eye, translating Sweet’s unveiled threat. “You don’t have to say that. I know that. I won’t either, Sweet. So we’ll do what we need to do.”
And just like that, they were back to an even keel. On the same page that violence might be the only solution for what Linc had put the club through. The way Sweet figured it, Linc would come back for his brother. Sweet wasn’t entirely convinced Bram didn’t know where Linc was, but even if he didn’t, once Linc caught wind his family was embedded with Havoc, he’d get the message.
Sweet ran his hands through his hair as he stared at the camera Gypsy had up, which showed the main empty room Bram was staying in. The bathroom wasn’t wired.
“I’ll stay here tonight,” Gypsy said.
“Don’t bother. I’ll be with him for tonight.”
“Why not just fuck him back at Havoc?”
“Still vetting him.”
“Right.” Gypsy shook his head. “You never have any problems bringing your one-night stands back to Havoc, Sweet. It’s only the important ones you keep away. And there haven’t been many important ones at all.”
That last line was said gently, with the right amount of reverence for what Sweet had loved and lost over the years. “He’s not a one-night stand. He’s Linc’s brother. He’s a lead,” he said tightly, not sure which one of them he was intent on convincing more. “I’ll be back soon and I’ll make sure he’s okay,” was all Sweet could manage before he headed out the door.
He needed a ride to clear his head before he went back in to Bram, needed to get his equilibrium back, and fast. The attraction had been instantaneous. Bram was good-looking, but not pretty. His attitude screamed tough, so when he’d gotten up off the barstool and looked like he was about to lose his fucking mind, Sweet had been concerned. He’d seen enough vets with PTSD to know that the guy was having some kind of freak-out panic attack and that the physical pain etched into his expression had good reason to be there. While Sweet got Bram off, the scars told a story of their own, of Bram being beaten—and badly—within the last six months.
He’d fought hard battles himself and could smell bullshit a mile away, but with Bram, there was bullshit and there was truth, all balled up together. Sweet needed to know more. Wanted to, if he was honest. But he’d also learned long ago how to separate his personal life from Havoc. Bram was a means to an end, and knowing that he got off on the fight, Sweet easily figured out how to make himself indispensable.
So Bram was his bait. Linc’s brother. Nothing more, nothing less.
Bram knew he’d made the right decision about the best way to both keep himself safe and find Linc. Protesting too hard against staying at Gypsy’s would’ve set off suspicions, and Bram had already aroused enough of them. For the moment, he had a bit of their sympathy regarding Linc, but Havoc was all business, and they wanted their bond money. Bram was the best way they had of getting that, so keeping him close was good for all involved.
Except for maybe Bram, when all was said and done.
“Fuck me,” he muttered, then shoved his bag onto a chair and sank down on the already-made bed. It was comfortable and clean—much nicer than the hotel, but in the long run, this would cost.
Maybe just his ass, but still.
He swept the place for any and all surveillance equipment and found a weak feed which undoubtedly supported picture but not sound. Still, he turned the TV on before taking his second phone out of his bag. It was time to make contact with someone from home who wouldn’t turn him into his sup, so he slid into the bathroom, shut the door and hit a button to dial Dozer, one of his oldest friends from the academy. They hadn’t partnered together, but they’d always looked out for each other on the QT.
Bram definitely needed that kind of discretion now, so he called the line the two of them used when they didn’t want to be monitored the fuck out of by the agency. Which was basically all the time. “Hey, Doz, it’s me.”
“Buddy—good to hear you alive and breathing.” Dozer’s voice was a low, slow drawl. “I heard you broke out of the hospital and left for warm weather.”
“Yeah, that’s what I told Parisi.”
There was a pause as Dozer digested Bram’s words. “So, where the hell are you? You know, in case I need to visit.”
Bram stared around the small apartment before answering, “Shades Run.”
Dead silence and then, “You’re fucking kidding me.”
Bram blew out a hard breath. “Honestly, I’m still having the same reaction.”
“I thought you were lying low?”
“I was. I am.” Bram sighed. “I’m helping Linc.”
“By killing yourself?” Dozer asked harshly. “You’re too close to those MCs for my comfort. Where’re you staying?”
No one knew where he was. That in and of itself made it a fucking stupid move, which was a big part of the reason he’d called Dozer. “I’m staying above this place called Gypsy’s Bail Bonds. It’s—”
“A Havoc-owned business,” Dozer managed before cursing up a blue streak and ending it with, “Are you fucking nuts?”
“They don’t know who I am. Not exactly.”
“And they can’t. Just keep your head down and keep in touch. If you go longer than twelve hours without sending out some kind of smoke signal, I’m sending someone in.”
“Like who? I’m supposed to be on vacation.”
“Jesus, Bram—how you’ve stayed alive all this time’s a mystery to me. Twelve-hour check-ins, at most.” Dozer hung up before Bram could argue. He set a few alarms on his phone so he wouldn’t forget and unwittingly trigger a manhunt in his honor.
Then he stripped his shirt off and lay down on the bed, dove in and let himself drown into his newest role.
He slid into his undercover roles as easily as he pulled on a pair of jeans. He became who he was supposed to be—total immersion. He’d been pretending since he was little, pretending to be happy, pretending that his family was normal, pretending his stepfather didn’t beat him on a regular basis. Anything to stay with Linc and not get tossed into the system.
Bram knew that foster care was a hell of a lot worse than what they’d had. And so the bruises were from being a boy, falling off his skateboard, and the broken bones from out of trees. He’d been quite the storyteller, talking himself into the military and then the ATF and then proving himself in several short-stint undercover stings.
Of course he’d caught the attention of the top brass. His last assignment before the Heathens was taking down a growing sect of white supremacists.
If he didn’t become who his new ID said he was, if he didn’t accept their mindset, he’d never be able to stop them. That wasn’t simply a justification—it was a necessity. And once the job was over, the hatred, disgust, regret would come pouring out of him in wave after wave of guilt and shame. It didn’t
matter that he’d stopped them. Being forced to participate? Part of the job, but part of his pain forever.
It’d taken him a year to recover from that before Parisi approached him about becoming a Heathen MC member in order to take parts of their operation down from the inside.
There was no good way to eliminate the entire MC, but they could stop the guns and drugs that were hurting the surrounding communities.
The job had become all about putting out fires. And it made Bram tired as fuck, but no less committed.
For Linc? More committed than he’d ever been.
Composed, confident, he remained on the bed, not closing his eyes, but forcing himself to relax as daylight receded. He remained in the dark, even when he heard footsteps approaching moments before a knock on the door.
Sweet or Gypsy? A toss-up, but Bram’s dick knew which one he hoped it’d be. Motherfucking traitorous dick. “Yeah?”
“Dinner.”
He switched on the light before opening the door, still bare chested, to find Sweet with a couple of bags. “I didn’t order takeout.”
“Figured you didn’t think about food.” Sweet brushed past him and Bram subtly inhaled the scent of leather.
Fuck, it was nice. Didn’t induce panic attacks like it almost had last night. Maybe using Sweet for some kind of immersion therapy wasn’t so crazy after all.
He watched as Sweet put the bags down, then stared him. There was appreciation there, but as Bram suspected, it was coupled with more. He knew Sweet had noticed the scars last night and that he had questions. Under the harsh florescent light, the fresh scar on his throat coupled with the healed broken nose and the slash along his cheekbone looked far worse.
Sweet finally asked, “Who hurt you, Bram?”
Bram swallowed for a hard pause because he didn’t have to fucking pretend it was hard to talk about. “I just came off a rough job. Guys who screw insurance companies out of millions aren’t fond of being caught.” He spoke casually, knowing the haunted look in his eyes that met him daily in the mirror told a different story.
It was an easy sell. The truth always was, because no matter how couched, Bram couldn’t hide the emotion that welled up when he discussed that “rough job.”
Because understatement of the year.
And Sweet didn’t seem to have a problem accepting what Bram told him. How long Bram could keep this ruse up was a different story.
It’s all about finding Linc, making sure he’s safe. And if Havoc could help him do that, hell, then Bram would pay the fucking bail money without issue.
Sweet unpacked the bag, passing the food to Bram. There was a small table with two chairs in the corner and both men sat, sharing the burgers and fries.
They ate in silence for a few moments, until Sweet asked, “So what made you pick that line of work?”
Bram’s skill set wasn’t always easy to hide, and an adjuster of high-level merchandise had to be part commando. Plus, there was no better time than the present to get in what would surely connect him to Havoc more than Linc. “After I left the military, I wanted to do something different.”
“Sounds different,” Sweet said, his voice neutral.
“Keeps me busy. Money’s good and I get to travel, looking for precious artifacts,” Bram lied.
“Army, right?”
“Just like Linc,” Bram agreed, then ducked his head to hide his smile.
“What’s that about?” Sweet asked.
Bram met his gaze. “I don’t even have to ask—I can spot a Marine at twenty paces.”
Sweet gave a short laugh. “I don’t try to hide it.”
“You couldn’t.” Bram reached over and grabbed some fries and realized it was the first time he recalled actually having an appetite versus shoving food down in order to gain back his energy. “This is good.”
“Restaurant’s around the corner. There’s a bar there too. We’ll head there later,” Sweet promised.
“A Havoc bar?”
“Is that a problem?”
Bram shrugged. “Do most of them know Linc?”
“Everyone knows Linc. He made his mark in the short time he was here.”
“That definitely sounds like my brother.”
“It’s a good thing, Bram. If anyone has any information, they’d have told me already. You’re not the only one who’s concerned.”
So Sweet bringing him into this bar would be less like walking into the lion’s den than Bram first thought.
At least that’s what Bram told himself to keep from panicking.
But when Sweet stared at him like a predator at prey, Bram alternately wanted to bolt and strip.
Fuck. Fucking traitorous dick.
“I was thinking that letting you go last night was the stupidest thing I could’ve done,” Sweet started, his drawl slow and sexy.
Bram, who’d spent the night half-hard himself thinking about Sweet, couldn’t have agreed more. “Sometimes waiting pays off.”
“It’s definitely going to,” Sweet murmured in a way that should’ve panicked him, but didn’t.
“Look, I appreciate what you did for me . . .”
“Yeah?” Sweet sat back easily in his chair, spreading his legs. “You gonna make it up to me?”
Bram swallowed, his throat suddenly tight, his cock impossibly hard as Sweet motioned for him to come kneel between Sweet’s legs. Bram supposed he could say no and be done with it, but hell, he hadn’t wanted to say no last night and didn’t want to tonight, either. So he slid to his knees, his face inches away from Sweet’s jean-covered cock and yeah, he guessed he was.
This is a test, he reminded himself. MCs liked loyalty from everybody. He was playing a role. A game. One he at least got some pleasure from.
Sweet’s hand carded through his hair, tugged a little to force Bram to look up at him. “Make no mistake, baby—this has nothing to do with what your brother owes Gypsy.”
“You sure about that?” Bram asked. “You looked like you wanted to volunteer when Gypsy mentioned taking it out on my ass.”
Sweet laughed, a deep rumble in his chest. “I wasn’t about to let anyone else take that job on.”
Bram smelled the leather, candy, and man combination that was distinctively Sweet. Without saying anything further, he worked the button and zipper on Sweet’s jeans slowly, because Sweet hadn’t worn underwear last night. Tonight was no different. Bram was up close and personal between Sweet’s legs, and fuck, his cock was big and thick and hard—long enough to choke on.
He took his time, traced a vein on Sweet’s shaft with his tongue as Sweet’s hand remained in his hair, his legs spreading wider with every lick and lave. Bram tugged the man’s jeans down farther so he could take his time exploring between his legs, driving Sweet crazy. Learning him.
Finally, when Sweet was growling, Bram took him inside his mouth and sucked hard, using his teeth to drag over the sensitive skin.
“Fuck yeah, that’s it,” Sweet groaned. Bram relaxed his throat to accept Sweet’s thrusting into his mouth, fucking it to the rhythm Bram had set.
“If I tell you to do this in the middle of the bar tonight, you’ll do it. Without question. Understood?” Sweet asked and Bram nodded, his mouth full of cock, lips stretched around him so Sweet could feel the hum of his satisfaction vibrate through his shaft and Christ, it was hard not to come just from Sweet’s words. He wasn’t kidding about it—Bram knew how it worked with MC members and their women. He guessed it wouldn’t be any different for a gay member, but he’d never come across any.
He’d been ready to bring Sweet to climax, to swallow greedily, but Sweet had other plans. With a rough curse, he stood, pulling Bram off his dick and onto his feet.
He yanked at Bram’s jeans, pushed them down as Bram kicked his shoes off. His T-shirt came off next and when he was completely naked, Sweet pushed him onto the bed on all fours.
Sweet kept his vest on and his jeans mostly on, and that was a turn-on for Bram, naked and helpless beneat
h the biker. Unable to move or think.
Sweet slapped his ass and Bram hissed, rocked his ass back as Sweet slid his cock in between Bram’s ass cheeks, teasing him for several moments before pulling back and rubbing his lubed fingertips over Bram’s hole and then working them inside of him. His head dropped and he groaned as Sweet hit his gland, rubbing it, making him squirm and yeah, he was going to come, and soon.
He felt Sweet’s free hand gliding up his back and along the scars before dragging his palm back down over them, making the same motion several times like he was memorizing them. Before Bram got self-conscious about it, he heard the rip of a condom and with little fanfare, Sweet was inside of him.
Bram was good with that, because he came about two minutes after Sweet entered him. Sweet laughed, a glorious sound, and came right after. “I guess that’s a compliment,” he murmured, his scruff rough against Bram’s cheek. “Next time, buckle up and prepare for more foreplay than you can handle.”
Next time. Fuck. This had been a show of dominance. Bram comforted himself with the fact that Sweet no doubt just wanted the blowjob but couldn’t keep his hands off Bram. It was a good sign in one way . . . and made him realize that in MC terms, he was halfway to being owned. That thought had him half collapsing onto his elbows and moaning into the pillow, aware that Sweet was laughing again as though reading his mind.
Bram showered quickly while Sweet waited downstairs in the shop. It allowed him to take his pain pills in private and also to grab his burner phone, his connection to Dozer. He figured it was safest to take that and leave his other cell in his bag.
He dragged on a tight, dark-gray thermal and black jean, then slid into black boots, the ones he’d used when he’d first learned to ride a bike. They were his lucky shoes, evidenced by the fact that he hadn’t been killed the night he’d been wearing them.
Granted, the lucky part was mostly ironic—because it wasn’t dumb luck but rather the Heathens MO. Heathens lived to torture their errant members. Their favorite mindfuck for traitors was what they called the Dead Man Walking: the traitor was beaten to the brink of death and left alive with the knowledge that they’d never stop looking for you. And they didn’t, extending the beatings over a couple of years until you really did die. A lesson for all would-be Heathens to know that not only would you still bear the scars—internal and external—of what happened but you’d also walk around never knowing when or where the other shoe would drop.